


Seven Days to Monday

by static_abyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Makeup, Not Epilogue Compliant, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: There are seven days before Harry has to meet Draco for the final signing of their divorce papers. It's been months and the surprise at finding nothing but more cold sheets and an empty pillow next to him still catches Harry unawares. He doesn't know where they go from here. Whether it's possible to go anywhere after everything that's happened between them.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 62
Kudos: 318
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	Seven Days to Monday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheekyTorah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyTorah/gifts).



> Thank you so much to [Leah](https://pineau-noir.tumblr.com/) for reading this over for me and making it better than I could ever have managed on my own.

### 

7.

The day dawns dark, the heavy grey clouds pushing away the morning sun. The pattering of rain starts slow, drips against the window as Harry rolls over against the feeble light that makes its way past the blinds. Harry reaches out next to him and hits cold sheets and empty space. Half-asleep, he curls on his side and stretches his arm out looking for the warmth that is usually waiting for him. It's been months and the surprise at finding nothing but more cold sheets and an empty pillow still catches Harry unawares. It's followed by a stab of longing and a painful ache that throbs once, angry and confused before Harry shoves it away. 

He needs to get up if he wants to shower before work and catch breakfast with Ron at the Muggle cafe near the Ministry. Harry sighs and heaves himself out of bed, his eyes landing immediately on the open trunk at the foot of the bed. It lays mostly empty, the last of the clothes strewn over the sides, a single sock hanging limply from the catch in the front. The sides that Harry can see are sleek, elegant, and black, the metal lock sparkling as the room light hits it. 

It's Draco's trunk, the one he took to Hogwarts in their eighth year. Harry remembers the same shining black sides catching his attention on Platform 9¾ the day they were due back. He'd noticed the way the trunk had seemed to swallow the light from the platform. Then he'd noticed Draco and the way he'd seemed to have shrunken in on himself, as though he too was swallowing sunlight and getting none of the benefits. 

Harry had wanted to say something, had even started to push his way towards Draco. But the crowd had noticed him and, amidst the shouting and the eager faces trying to get a good look at him, he'd lost sight of Draco. He'd seen him on the train later as Harry had passed his compartment. Draco had been sitting by the window, his arms around himself even as Pansy Parkinson had tried to coax him into a conversation.

Harry hadn't meant to stare, hadn't known he was doing so until Draco had looked up and caught his eyes. They'd looked at each other and Harry had remembered the same train compartment two years prior, the day Draco had laid out across Pansy Parkinson's lap and had talked about doing right by Voldemort. They had been children then, Harry had thought as he'd looked at the hatred, ugly and dangerous, that had swum in Draco's eyes as Harry had walked past. They had been children on that train going for their eighth year too, both of them holding onto the ghost of past offences, to perceived affronts. Harry had spoken up for the Malfoys at their trial, for Draco specifically, and he'd known that day on the train that Draco would never forgive him for it. 

It hadn't been a surprise. Harry had known where they stood but he'd been hurt nonetheless. He'd thought, foolishly, that things might have changed after the war. 

He sighs now, shaking himself out of past thoughts. It does not pay to dwell on things that cannot be changed and he has a job and a meeting to get to this morning. Harry showers, picks up one of the shirts hanging off the side of the open trunk and pulls it on. The shirt hugs his shoulders well and the soft material is comforting even though Harry knows it has been too long for the smell of Draco's cologne to linger. 

He shakes himself again, tucks his wand into his pocket, and heads downstairs. He passes the sitting room, glances quickly at the coffee table, as though he expects to see the mound of potions ingredients that Draco used to sort into piles. There's nothing there but a thin layer of dust that speaks to how long it's been since Harry stepped foot inside. He doesn't like to spend time at home these days if he can help it. He prefers to go out and have a drink with whoever is available, or spend the night with Ron and Hermione, or at the Weasleys. Sometimes, if he feels as though he has intruded enough, he'll take a night off and go visit Teddy and Andromeda, or go to the little cottage that he and Draco own together. Though Harry supposes Draco will be wanting that in the divorce. 

It's still dark out as Harry makes his way through their house, the rain loud against the windows. There are sheets of water washing away the smudges on the window panes and Harry is thankful that he won't have to do it himself. He passes the kitchen, leaves the light off as he rummages around the cupboards for the tea he likes. The Ministry kitchens never have his favourite, light lavender green tea that Draco brought back once from a visit with his Mum. Harry's been saving them for special occasions, part of him believing that it matters that he keep this one thing from changing. He hasn't even gotten the chance to ask Draco where he might get more should he run out.

They haven't talked. The only correspondence they've had in the last six months is a single letter from Draco that reads: _I am sorry. It was too soon_.

The looping letters of Draco's script, the aristocratic, well-bred mannerisms Harry remembers, had contrasted with the words themselves. Malfoys were not made to apologize as Draco's father had made abundantly clear during the Malfoy Trials. Lucius Malfoy had stood his ground and taken the punishment that the Ministry felt he was due. Despite how much Harry had resented what that meant for Draco, Lucius Malfoy had, for once in his life, owned up to the mistakes he'd made. In doing so, he'd saved his wife from imprisonment and had doomed his son to the life afforded to the child of an unrepentant Death Eater. In the aftermath of the war, that had meant exclusion and open dislike at best.

Draco became a different person after that, though Harry knows Draco's transformation had started well before that. But ever since the Malfoy Trials, Draco had done his best to ensure that all his actions were good ones, that he was kind to people he might not have been kind to before. The Prophet had had a wild ride trying to decipher what possible schemes Draco Malfoy had been up to. They'd found nothing and so, when Harry had seen Draco at Platform 9¾, he'd genuinely wanted to talk to him, to find out what lived inside Draco Malfoy's head that had changed him so fundamentally.

To find out, perhaps, whether that same thing existed in Harry, that he might one day change also.

### 

6.

Six days before the final signing of their divorce papers and the London weather dawns cold and grey for the second time in a row. If Draco were a more dramatic person, he would say the day mourns with him. He doesn't want to do this, had never wanted to hand over the papers to Harry and ask him to dissolve their marriage. But he knows, in the deepest parts of himself, that he can't offer what Harry needs. Not right now. Not at this moment. 

They had been children when they married, fresh out of Hogwarts and with the passion of their newly formed relationship. Draco had fought so hard for the scraps of open affection that had been denied to him as a child, the open frankness of Harry Potter's love. Harry has a way of making the people around him feel noticed and cared for and it had been worse back then. 

On the last day before they had left Hogwarts for good, Harry had pulled Draco aside, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The summer sun had been high in the sky and Harry's skin had taken on its summer gold. He'd been beautiful in the sun, bright green eyes and bronzed skin, the horrible way his hair fell over his face as he'd looked at Draco. Every inch of him was what Draco had wanted, what he'd craved all his life, as though the aching hunger that lived in Draco's chest was finally filled. As though Harry Potter was enough finally to cover that which had existed in Draco since his father had chosen the wrong master and had doomed them all. 

"I wanted to ask you something," Harry had said.

He'd seemed almost shy when he'd said it. 

Draco knows now that it was because Harry had been afraid that Draco might say no to him. Harry had doubted that Draco would want to live with him after Hogwarts, that Draco might have regrets once they were free from the safety of Hogwarts. Out in the real world, no one would guard their secrets, but Draco hadn't even thought of that before Harry had mentioned it.

He had not imagined the way the press would take what they'd had and throw out into the world. The way their kisses goodbye in the mornings would come under scrutiny, how there would be page after page speculating about the end of their relationship. How the cut of Harry's hair or the curve of his smile could mean that he was displeased. 

Draco had tried to talk to Harry about it in the beginning, but Harry had never paid attention to the press. He'd never known the fear that Draco has carried within him since he was old enough to understand that the press could make or break a person. He'd grown used to building facades, with constructing walls to keep himself safe. Never saying more than needed to be said. Never wanting more than what was expected. 

At the end of it, it all boiled down to the fact that Draco was a Death Eater and Harry was not. That after the war ended, it had mattered more that Draco's father would rather be locked in Azkaban than it had mattered that Draco and his mother were trying. That it would always matter more that Draco had made mistakes in his life than that he was doing everything he could to be someone else. It was that Draco was more afraid of what the world would do to him and Harry than he was afraid of walking away.

Draco hates the news, hates how the papers applauded Harry's decision to end things with Draco, even though Draco had been the one to present the divorce papers. He hates that he feels relief more than anything now that there are only six more days before they dissolve their marriage for good. That he hopes after he and Harry sign the papers they'll both be free, that the lead weight hanging at the pit of Draco's stomach will finally go. 

He never wanted to do this but if it means an end to the constant comparisons, to his own inability to measure up to Harry in any way, then it will be worth it. Draco can deal with the ache he holds in his chest, with how he can't sleep at night because his bed at the Manor is too large, too cold. There is nobody to keep him warm. No unguarded smile from Harry. 

But it will be worth it. 

It has to be worth it setting Harry free.

### 

5.

"You're wearing Malfoy's shirt again," Ron says on Thursday.

There are five days before Harry is supposed to meet up with Draco and his lawyers to sign the divorce papers. 

"Yes, I am," Harry says. "Why?"

Ron exchanges a look with Hermione over his roast beef sandwich. Harry picks up his tea and takes a sip as he watches them. They know he's looking and Hermione doesn't even try to pretend she isn't judging him. Harry appreciates that about her, how honest she always has been, and how blunt she has become after the war. Hermione no longer believes in being quiet about her opinions, regardless of how people take it. She has pursued a career with the Ministry with true, unbridled passion. 

Harry is still a little in awe. 

He waits as Ron finishes his sandwich and Hermione steals chips off Ron's plate. Someone is working their way up to a confrontation or an intervention. Harry recognizes the signs, the offer for an early dinner after work, a request that it be at the Leaky Cauldron where they can disappear into a corner. Not that Harry is under any delusion that they'll be ignored for long. He knows the Leaky Cauldron is more for his benefit so that he doesn't make a scene or leave. 

"I don't want to sound callous," Hermione says. 

Ron snorts into his sandwich and Harry does his best to keep himself in check as Hermione turns her glare on Ron. 

"But?" Harry asks.

He takes another sip of tea to hide the way his hands shake. Harry can feel the faint tremors every time he lets his cup go. His heart beats loud in his chest, the sound almost deafening as he stares across the table at his friends. He hasn't been this nervous since he'd received the owl from Draco. 

"We think," Hermione starts but Ron cuts her off.

"There's no thinking," Ron says, frowning. "We know you're going through a hard time."

"Divorce isn't easy," Hermione says.

She stops and takes a look around the Leaky Cauldron but the place is full of others' conversations and no one is paying them any attention. They've learned from their Hog's Head days and this time, Hermione waves her wand and murmurs " _Muffliato_ " under her breath. 

"We know divorce isn't easy," she starts again. "But it's been months, and if you aren't sure this is what you want to do, then there's no reason that you should go ahead with the divorce. Surely Draco is willing to talk about this."

Harry leans back in his chair and stares at the clock above the bar in front of him. The clock says it's almost six in the evening, the same time it was when Draco sat him down six months ago. Harry had just come home from work, out of breath, his side still stinging from a curse that had gotten too close. He'd wanted to lie down in the sitting room for a moment, with his head on Draco's lap and let Draco run his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry had been thinking about it all day and so when he'd seen Draco sitting on the armchair by the fireplace, his blond hair tied away from his face, beautiful in the dim light of the room, it had taken too long for Harry to notice the packed trunks. 

He'd gone in, all of himself relaxing as he'd looked at Draco, beautiful and pale, his grey eyes watching Harry from across the room. It had been so easy to lean down and kiss Draco, to inhale the musk of his cologne and bury his head in Draco's neck. Harry had wanted so badly to just embed himself in Draco's skin, to let that safety that he hadn't known in a long time wash over him. He'd never expected the conversation that came next. 

Never, for as long as Harry had been with Draco, had it ever occurred to him that their marriage had been a mistake. It had been quick, perhaps, against the wishes of Draco's parents, sure, but never had Harry considered it a mistake. 

"I'm sorry," Draco had said as he'd stood up from the armchair. "I don't think this is working anymore."

Harry hadn't known what wasn't working in the beginning. He'd asked for clarification, had asked Draco to wait when Draco had explained that he was leaving. Harry had chased after him, of course. He had to because Draco had trunks and bags and he was walking out of Harry's life. But the night had been hot and humid, and the heat that had pressed against Harry's chest as he'd walked after Draco had been stifling.

"Draco, wait," Harry had called.

They'd been out in the empty alley that they could follow out into the busy London streets. It had been the only exit they could use to avoid the reporters that had a tendency to hang around the front of their home. The space was small and Harry and Draco had been so close, Harry could have reached out across the distance and could have dragged Draco back. But that hadn't been what Draco had wanted, and Harry, for all that he might hate where things have ended up, would have never done something Draco hadn't wanted. 

"I have to go," Draco had said. "You know I have to."

Harry has played the scenario in his head over and over since that day. He thinks about the things he could have done differently, how he could have asked Draco to come in for tea, to talk. He thinks of himself then, hurt and scared, with nothing to hold onto as his life broke down before him. He'd thought that he would never again feel the kind of pain that came with losing a loved one. He hadn't expected it, hadn't known what to do when he was losing someone because they wanted to go. 

He knows, now, that he should have done things differently. But Draco had looked so sad in the dim light of the alley, something terrible weighing on him in a way Harry hadn't seen since before the war. Harry had known it was his fault and so, he'd done what was needed and removed himself from the equation.

The divorce papers had come a week later. 

"Hey," Hermione says, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. 

Harry puts down his cup of tea, the cup clinking loudly against the saucer. He's drifted off, lost in thoughts that Harry finds he doesn't want to escape. It's that he doesn't understand where they went wrong, Harry thinks. It's that one day everything was okay and the next, Draco had packed his bags and had moved out. An easy cut, neat, ordered, as though Draco had never intended to stay. He'd removed himself so completely from Harry's life that it's almost as though Draco had never been there in the first place. 

It was so easy. 

"I don't think I can talk to Draco," Harry says, finally. "He doesn't want to talk."

"But Harry," Hermione says. "There's just no way that he wants this, either. Blaise and Pansy said he's miserable."

Harry pretends he didn't hear the mention of Blaise and Pansy. He hates how quickly Ron and Hermione formed those particular friendships, how untroubled and smooth it had all been. Nothing like Harry and Draco in their early days. Nothing like Harry and Draco after their marriage. Nothing like Harry and Draco now, both of them off in their own lives, neither of them worried about what the other might feel.

"It's done," Harry says, pushing his cup of tea away. "If Draco had wanted to talk to me, he would have answered all the letters I sent him."

It's not anger at Draco. It's resignation and the cold pit at the centre of Harry's stomach that he knows is acceptance. He doesn't want to dwell on maybes or half-formed dreams of reconciliation. He doesn't feed the part of himself that keeps telling him that if he could just see Draco, everything would be okay. If Harry could just hold him and kiss him, everything would make sense again.

The absence is a dull ache, a low thrum that hasn't left Harry since Draco walked out of their house. He no longer feels it unless a blond walks too close to him, or he turns and thinks he might see Draco walking into the Ministry. It never lasts long because Harry knows Draco would do better than to be caught anywhere Harry might be. He is too cunning for that, much better adjusted to planning than Harry is. 

"You should try to talk to him," Hermione says, again.

Ron reaches across the table and puts his hand over Harry's. Harry hasn't even noticed his hand is still shaking. 

"He loves you, mate," Ron says. 

The pain this time is unexpected, a cold jab that pierces through Harry's chest. He can feel the air around him starting to condense into a ball that pushes its way past Harry's throat. He hates this conversation.

"We're signing divorce papers in five days," Harry says, pushing away from the table. 

Ron says something but Harry makes his way past the crowd of people, edging around the tables. He hears someone call his name, a hush of whispers that picks up in volume the more people notice him. Harry makes it to the door without getting stopped and slips under his invisibility cloak in the alley next to the pub. 

The evening's warm, people out in the streets, enjoying the summer weather. The invisibility cloak is made of light enough material that Harry can still breath underneath it, despite the heat. The sun is still out and Harry turns away from the group of blonds making their way past the stores and towards the Underground. There are too many people in London who could be Draco and Harry finds that he is tired of looking out for all of them.

He turns down an empty side street, head down and wand tucked into his jeans' pocket. He wants to go to the cottage in the country, to be away from the concern and the pitying looks. Harry doesn't want to hear about regrets and what Draco does or doesn't want to do. They are doing this, have been filing papers for months now. Lawyer after lawyer, meeting after meeting. Harry is tired of sending his lawyer and hearing that Draco also sent his in his place. 

Draco doesn't want to see Harry, won't even do him the courtesy of answering his letters. He hadn't even written on Harry's birthday, had left unanswered the letter Harry sent on Draco's. Whatever they had has crumbled, broken pieces left behind in what's left of their home together. There's nothing else left to do. Harry has tried so hard for months to scrape the pieces together, to glue them back into something that resembles who they had been. 

He is angry and defeated. But more than that, Harry is hurt deeply in a way he'd never expected. He'd thought that Draco loved him, that despite their differences as children, what they'd built in their eighth year and after would be enough for Draco. That he would trust Harry would understand him. Harry had thought that Draco would come to him first, would have tried to fix what was broken. Harry loved him, loves him still, despite all this. If it had been Harry who'd had doubts, he would have talked to Draco, would have done anything to make their marriage work. 

But even as he thinks it, Harry knows this doesn't rest solely on Draco. Harry hadn't asked, not even when he'd noticed Draco growing quieter. Harry had told himself it was only the change in weather, a rough patch, just something that would smooth itself over in time.

"I'm sorry," Draco had said. "This can't be fixed."

Harry sighs, the night breeze rustling the folds of his cloak. He looks down the empty street, makes sure there's no one around, then he tucks his cloak around him and Disapparates.

### 

4.

The wedding had been beautiful, had been fun, had been the happiest day of Harry's life. He remembers the rush of people, the way Pansy and Blaise had taken over the list Draco had made almost immediately. It had been a small affair, just Harry and Draco and some of their closest friends. 

Draco had only had four guests, Pansy and Blaise and their plus-ones. Harry had filled the rest of the seats outside in the Weasleys' yard. He'd never expected to have so many people at his wedding, but when Draco had suggested they have a small wedding, Harry's list of important people had gone on and on. There had been nearly forty of them by the time the wedding rolled around, and only four of them Draco's.

It should have been a red flag, Harry thinks now as he makes his way out of his office at the Ministry. He should have known that, despite what Draco might have said, it was important that Draco's parents be present. Harry should have known. He should have said something then. 

Instead, he'd let his happiness get the best of him, had let the day be filled with the Weasleys' laughter, with drinks, with dancing. When Draco had asked for a moment, Harry hadn't thought much about it. He'd assumed Draco was feeling what Harry was, that unbridled joy that wouldn't let him sit still. He hadn't even bothered to check on Draco, had assumed that when Draco had come back, everything had been okay.

But there's nothing for it now, Harry knows. He has to keep going because Draco has made his decision and Harry will not be the one to go against what Draco wants. So he pushes away the memories and tucks his travelling cloak around himself as he heads out into the London streets. He walks only a few blocks before Disapparating. 

Today he's meant to have dinner with the Weasleys but he's early. The sun is just beginning to set in the fields to the left of Harry, the low light turning the grass a deep gold. It reminds Harry of stolen afternoons on the Hogwarts grounds, and of days in the country when the breeze was warm and Draco would lean against Harry's shoulder as they sat to watch the sun set. 

Harry turns away from the light, pushing down the rise of emotions that flare at any mention of Draco. It's getting harder, the closer they get to signing the divorce papers. It'll be the first time Harry will see Draco since he'd walked out over six months ago. Now that they're so close, despite the summer sun and the evening waiting for him with the Weasleys, Harry can feel Draco's presence in everything he does. 

Even as he walks to the Weasleys' kitchen door, he thinks of the first time he'd brought Draco to dinner, how easily Mrs Weasley had embraced him into her fold. She'd been so supportive and just thinking about it makes another pang run through Harry's chest. 

He inhales deeply, holds it in until his chest burns. His exhale is as slow as he can make it, just enough to ground him so that he can continue with his evening. He doesn't want any more sadness. This decision is made and he has to deal with it, the same way that Draco has dealt with it. 

Harry sighs and as he makes to open the kitchen door, he hears Mr Weasley's voice. It sounds like he's saying Harry's name and before Harry can think better of it, he's pulled out his invisibility cloak from his bag. He throws it over himself and tucks himself by the side of the door so that he can hear better.

"They married too soon," Molly is saying. "You know they did, Arthur. Harry is barely twenty-one and really, Lucius Malfoy's son?"

Through the crack in the kitchen door, Harry can see Mrs Weasley at the table, a half-finished tart in front of her and her wand tucked behind her ear. She has always looked like a mother to Harry, warm and kind, her red hair a deeper shade than Ginny's but lovely just the same. Harry loves her and more importantly, he trusts her. So he doesn't understand why she would be saying these things now, when she'd been ecstatic the day Harry had announced his engagement to Draco.

All through the wedding, she'd fussed over Harry's tux, over Draco's dress robes, their hair, Harry's general inability to sit still before the ceremony. He'd asked her over and over, just as he'd asked Ron and Hermione whether they had been okay with what was happening. He'd never thought to ask whether they had approved of his and Draco's marriage because Harry had assumed that they would. He'd been so happy.

That's what hurts the most as he stands outside of the kitchen, the setting sun casting the fields and the trees in the distance in a faint orange glow. He can feel the beginnings of a deep ache in the centre of his chest as he thinks of Draco the night before their wedding. 

They had been laying in bed together, facing each other as the faint moonlight had slipped through their open window. Their house in the country had been Draco's first choice to host their wedding, but Harry had wanted the Burrow and Draco had agreed. They'd compromised by staying in their cottage the night before their wedding, their last day before they would return as a married couple.

Harry had been watching the way the light from outside had played with the shadows on Draco's face, how he'd looked so breathtakingly handsome. His cheekbones had seemed sharper in the evening light, his eyes a deep dark grey that had matched with the greyish hue the room had cast on Draco's hair. Harry had been bathed in the glow of his bedside table, the orange light catching on his skin and setting him ablaze in the artificial brightness. They had looked like polar opposites that night, and something about the difference had made Harry feel unsure for the first time in his life. 

He'd thought of Ginny and how she'd fit seamlessly into his life from the beginning, how one moment she'd been Ron's sister and the next her laughter had sounded like the best thing Harry had ever heard. He'd remembered how easy it had been to go from that back to who they were before she'd kissed him in his sixth year. 

He'd stared into Draco's eyes and had wondered why it had mattered then that they were not the same, why the glow of the bedside lamp could be so different from the moonlight. It had been fleeting and had made Harry feel stupid. He'd been barely twenty years old, recently graduated, and the days where he'd wondered whether he might die before he hit his parents' age was long past. There had been no room for fatalistic thoughts that night, not when Draco had moved forward and his mouth had been warm. 

How his hands had felt against Harry's face, how easy it had been to press Draco into the sheets and feel with his body that they'd belonged together. He'd pushed away the doubts, the lingering feelings of something amiss, with Draco's mouth on his. With the way Draco had said Harry's name when he'd finally pushed in. How hot the night had been. 

The windows had been thrown open as Harry had pressed himself against Draco. Every bit of himself had been focused on Draco's body underneath him, the quiet grunts and choked off exclamations Draco had been making. He'd sounded good when Harry moved against him, had sounded even better when Harry had worked his hand in between them. 

Draco's hands had been rough in Harry's hair, his mouth incessant and demanding whenever Harry had tried to move away to get better leverage.

"Stay," Draco had murmured in between the press of their bodies.

Harry had stayed close, had wanted nothing more than to wash away all the things he'd been thinking with the sounds of their breathing in the quiet of their cottage. Draco had been so good, so easy and pliant, so very willing to accept whatever Harry had given him. He'd fit so well in Harry's arms, his mouth hot. Everything about it had been just a bit hard, just an edge past desperate, as though both of them had been searching for some sort of confirmation from the other.

It had been too close to an admission of an unnamed mistake and Harry had done everything he could to convince both of them that whatever happened, what they were going to do the next day couldn't be a mistake. He'd wanted so much to believe that when Draco had come with Harry's name on his lips and Harry inside him, they'd both felt the world right itself.

Harry had loved him. 

Harry loves him still and as he stands outside of the Burrow, feeling unwelcome for the first time in his life, he thinks that there might be a part of him that wants this to be a mistake. A part of him wants to believe that Ron and Hermione are right, that somewhere out there Draco is sitting in his room, wondering how to go back. If Harry could talk to him, if Draco would give any hint that he wants Harry to come to him, Harry would go. He'd be there in a second.

As he waits for the beating of his heart to slow, he thinks of them that night, both of them sated and warm, how they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. He thinks of how the next day Harry had woken up with Draco gone, how he hadn't doubted for a second that Draco would come back. 

He thinks of the days he's woken up alone in their apartment. How, even when Harry wakes up thinking there should be somebody next to him, he no longer expects to see Draco coming in from the kitchen. He thinks of how easy it's been to become accustomed to new routines, to new people, to the deep, roiling emptiness that lives in Harry's chest. It feels wide and endless, a gaping wound like someone had ripped him open and thrown fire on his organs. He thinks of himself in bed the morning of his wedding day, knowing that he would see Draco later. And Harry can feel the sharp stab of pain, followed by the quieter simmering underneath, something almost insignificant enough to be overlooked, that Harry knows will hurt worse later. 

He doesn't want to be here, he realises as he looks away from the kitchen. He wants to be anywhere but here in England where Draco lives, where Draco exists. He wants to take his things and go and keep going until he outruns the hollow at the centre of his chest. 

But he stays because he knows better. Because there are divorce papers to sign in four days.

### 

3.

Draco had almost said no on the day of his wedding. 

The day had dawned bright, the fall sun shining down on the multicoloured fields, the green rolling into orange and yellow. The leaves on Mrs Weasley's apple tree had been turning a beautiful gold that would fade to orange by the time October ended. There had still been so much green, a sure sign that they were to have a prosperous marriage according to Fleur Delacour. 

Draco remembers being surrounded by Weasleys, by people who were so obviously there for Harry. He'd seen Hagrid, the Hogwarts Groundskeeper, and knowing that these people who Draco barely knew meant enough to Harry to be invited to his wedding had set off a deep sadness in Draco. He'd watched Mrs Weasley fussing over Harry's hair, how she'd seemed so invested in getting Harry's tie just right.

"It's your wedding, love," she'd said as she'd waved her wand over Harry's suit. "You have to look perfect."

Draco had looked at Harry, smiling and obviously happy, so obviously loved by the people present. Draco had felt so unnecessary for a moment, a single drop in a sea of love that Harry Potter had carried. He'd watched Mrs Weasley and had missed his mother, even his father, no matter what the man had done. Draco knows they love him, knew then that his mother and father would love him at the end of everything. But he'd also known that they wouldn't have come to his wedding, that all the letters left unanswered were their way of telling him they were displeased with his choices. 

Draco had only wanted to feel less alone for a moment and being in the same room as Harry who was not alone had been too much. He'd excused himself and had gone out the kitchen door of the Burrow, away from the rows of chairs and the beautiful white and silver tents. Draco had walked off into the field, not knowing what he'd intended, not knowing whether he'd meant to stop.

If things had happened today, Draco knows he never would have said yes to Harry. It was too soon, too much still between them that they hadn't figured out, things that Draco still needs to figure out for himself. 

He sighs now, and Pansy, who has been watching him silently from the other end of the couch rolls her eyes at him. The stone Manor walls and the rows of books already make the Manor library seem cold and dreary, but the look Pansy sends Draco's way is colder still. She has her reasons for being angry, and Draco knows better than to argue with her. She and Blaise have been his only true companions since the war ended, and Draco would not do them the disservice of pushing aside their advice after everything.

"You know what I think," Pansy says now. "You're still the only one who thinks he's doing the right thing. And if Blaise were here, he would tell you the same thing."

Draco looks at her, wonders how she can possibly be so certain that Harry isn't happy with the way things have turned out. He'd signed all the papers Draco had sent him, had never once hesitated, no matter how long Draco's lists of demands had gotten. 

"You're the one who never answered his letters, darling," she says, and her "darling" sounds like poison in her mouth. 

Draco knows better than to pretend he has handled this situation with maturity. The truth is, he has been afraid since Harry Potter found him sitting at the lake at Hogwarts, after the war. 

Draco hadn't wanted to be in the castle. He'd grown tired of the looks and the sneers, from the outright hatred he'd seen in the faces of the students in Hogwarts. Some of the new Muggle-borns hadn't even known who he was, only that he was the son of a Death Eater. Only that to be a Death Eater was something foul and unwanted. It hadn't mattered which Death Eater Draco's father had been, or who Draco had been outside of his father and his family. They'd hated him from the beginning for things he couldn't control, and though Draco recognizes the hypocrisy now, he hadn't been able to see it then.

He'd been angry and exhausted, so incredibly done and over everything that was Hogwarts and their new attempts at House unity. Not four houses anymore, but a random divide of students among years. The Sorting Hat had been put aside, a reminder of things that they'd done in the past, that they'd do no longer. And even that had been imbecilic and senseless, a meagre attempt to right the rot at the centre of the wizarding world and the blasted school.

Draco had wanted to be alone and the lake had seemed like the best place to sit and mourn everything he'd lost. Not the titles or the money, but the ignorance with which he'd lived in the world. He hated the person he'd been before the Dark Lord had branded him. But deep down, Draco had wanted to be back there, in a place where his family was respected, where his father and mother were safe. Back to the days when it hadn't mattered to him what anyone had thought of him, when it hadn't mattered that Harry Potter had spoken up for him at the trial. Before Draco had doomed his family by helping Harry Potter and his friends, before he would have gladly sold out his father over and over if it meant keeping his mother safe. 

He'd wanted so many childish things and that he'd wanted them had angered him. That the Hogwarts halls had been full of people wanting to start afresh, just as often as they had been filled with people wanting revenge had made him furious. Draco hadn't understood the first group, hadn't understood Harry Potter's lingering gazes at breakfast in the mornings. It had always been much easier to understand the second group, the rage that had filled them had been the same that had lived within Draco. He'd lost everything because his father had made the wrong choices. Because Draco had made the wrong choices. There he'd been, a child who had gone through a war on the wrong side and who had to live with the consequences that came after.

He'd wanted to drown himself in the lake, to have the giant squid take him deep into the green lake water until there had been nothing left of Draco Malfoy. He'd thought it for a moment and had realised that night that he was too much of a coward to even do that. So he'd sat by the tree near the Northside of the lake, letting the night air chill him to his bones until he'd been able to pretend like he'd felt something other than a cold, dark, hatred for everything in his life. He'd hated himself most of all at the end of the day, more than he would ever come to hate the people who had treated his family like garbage, the acquaintances at the Ministry who had supported them during the war and had dropped them after. The whole wizarding world had been full of hypocrites and Draco had been so angry his family had been one of the few that had been made an example of.

Harry had found him there, at the edge of the lake, with just enough moonlight that the shadows from the trees around Draco had made everything seem more sinister. Dark, jagged shadows had crawled down the sides of Harry's face so that when Draco had looked up, it had seemed as though all the scars from the war were present there. They'd looked at each other for so long and Draco had known there was something Harry had seen on his face, some sort of kinship in their mutual pain.

"Can I sit?" Harry had asked.

Draco had been so alone, so angry, so full of resentment at himself that he'd wanted to find a way to ruin Harry Potter and his beautiful face.

"Sit if you want," he'd said.

Harry had sat. Together they'd watched the ripples on the surface of the lake, the breeze blowing the branches on the trees across from them. The night had been teeming with noises, the rustling of leaves, the hoots from the owls, the whispering breeze making its way between the branches. Draco had sat and listened to the noises, to the way the grass had shifted as Harry had gotten comfortable on the floor. Then, when the clouds above them had parted enough for the moonlight to shine brighter onto the surface of the lake, Harry had turned to Draco.

"Where do we go from here?" Harry had asked.

All of the same earnestness that he'd carried all through their relationship had been present, that unguarded regard for Draco and his well being. Draco had stood no chance against the force of Harry Potter's attention. He'd asked so casually, as though he and Draco had not hated each other from the moment they had laid eyes on each other at Hogwarts the first time. 

"I don't know," Draco had said, the night air and the closeness of Harry making him honest. "I didn't think you wanted us to go anywhere."

Harry had turned and the honest confusion on his face had convinced Draco. Harry had not wanted anything with Draco Malfoy, had perhaps simply gone out that night to take in the night air. Perhaps he too had been plagued with nightmares that had made him angry at everything. Perhaps, Harry and Draco had had more in common than either of them had realized before the war. 

"I didn't know I wanted us to go anywhere either," Harry had said.

His eyes had been so green next to the lake, surrounded as Harry had been by the trees and the shadows. Draco had watched him, had accepted the flood of want that had seared through him as he'd thought of all the things wanting something with someone entailed. He'd known that Harry had only meant to restart after the war, that there had been no way that they could possibly be talking about anything more than friendship.

But Harry looked so beautiful in the moonlight, had looked so young, so open and honest. And Draco had been so angry that the war had touched Harry Potter and had left him unmarred. Furious that he'd held scars from Voldemort's spells and Harry had looked so pleasant and content in the moonlight. How unfair it had all seemed then, how much anger had lived within Draco. Enough that he hadn't even noticed the way Harry had been watching, that heated look in his eyes, the way he hadn't been able to look away from Draco's mouth.

That was why Draco had said yes on their wedding day, the expression in Harry's eyes when Draco had finally looked up during one of what had become their regular nightly strolls by the lake. The way Harry had looked on the humid spring night when Draco had finally gathered all his courage and had leaned across those extra few centimetres between them. Harry had been there to meet him halfway, all of his focus Draco so that Draco had felt as though he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Draco had noticed, too late, how the centimetres between them had shortened over the course of that spring in their last year at Hogwarts. He hadn't noticed how Harry's company had begun to mellow him out until Draco hadn't heard the whispers in the hallways anymore. Until, because he'd stopped hearing them, the kids had stopped talking about him. How Harry had begun to say hello to him in the mornings so Granger and Weasley had stopped giving Draco death glares. 

Draco hadn't even noticed the changes until Harry's mouth had touched his and his hands had been hot and insistent on Draco. The air had been thick with the humidity near the lake, the night sky threatening rain. The smell of wet dirt had hung around them as Harry Potter had kissed Draco Malfoy and Draco had leaned back into the grass and had let him. He'd wanted to drown in the focused way Harry had of kissing him, in the way Harry had leaned all the way into Draco's space until Draco had felt him all over his body. How Draco had realised, as he'd wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and had dragged him closer, that all he'd ever wanted was to have Harry against him, to be pressed down into the dirt and held the way Harry had held him. 

He'd been so lonely as a child and when Harry had offered him warmth and affection, real, unyielding love, no strings attached, Draco had been unable to say no. He'd been powerless to defend himself against all of Harry's concentrated attention so he'd let himself get carried away. He'd let himself say yes to moving in with Harry at the end of their eighth year at Hogwarts, had said yes again when Harry had proposed, and one last yes on the day of their wedding. 

If Draco is honest with himself, he would say yes again. He wants to say yes, to let Harry back into his life and let himself get carried away in the feel of Harry's hands on him. To forget that Draco has let his entire life be consumed by Harry to the point that the only people he has outside of him are Pansy and Blaise. All of his other friends were Harry's friends first. All of their wedding guests had been Harry's wedding guests. He's here alone at the Manor because there is nowhere else for Draco to go, no other option left to him except everything he has with Harry.

"I need to be someone," Draco tells Pansy.

She doesn't mention that it has taken him this long to say something in response. But Draco can see that he has surprised her.

"You are someone," she says.

She understands. Draco can tell from the pity in her eyes. She and Blaise had grown up the same way Draco had, locked away in their gilded cages, only let out to socialize with whomever their parents had approved of. They had been groomed and polished to a perfect, highbred, pureblood shine and then had been kept hidden until their parents had needed them. All of their friendships, their relationships, their interactions with the wizarding world had been predetermined by their parents, by how they could have helped their family names.

Draco, Pansy, and Blaise became friends, despite their parents, with a single-minded focus to have something outside of their choreographed lives. After the war, they'd held onto each other even more strongly. Sometimes Draco thinks they did it to prove to themselves that they could be people outside of their families. But they work together despite their initial reasons. They understand each other and that's something Draco doesn't take for granted.

"You are someone," Pansy says again.

Draco sighs and stands up from the couch. He walks to the fireplace, waves his wand over the unlit hearth and watches the flames roar to life. It's warmer almost immediately and Draco moves over to the side. He's seen his father standing to the sides of fireplaces all his life, his lean, pale frame almost melancholy next to the warmth of a fire. Draco knows what he looks like, knows that Pansy will have her own memories of her father by fireplaces, the quick access to the Floo important in the early days of the war. 

"What's the problem with finding yourself in Potter's company?" she asks. 

Draco turns back to the library, the rows of books that have kept him busy for the last few months. He's exiled himself to the Manor because it's the only place he knows the world can't touch him, the way it hadn't reached him when he was a child. He's safe here, away from prying eyes, back to haunting the hallways like the ghost he'd become when the Dark Lord had moved in.

"I hate it here," Draco says.

He is avoiding Pansy's question because he doesn't want to tell her that what he fears is finding himself in the presence of Harry and having Harry realise that he doesn't like who Draco becomes. Harry had loved the person Draco had been in their last year at Hogwarts, had loved the Draco that had existed for nothing but the love Harry Potter had been willing to give him. Draco is afraid that like his parents, Harry might leave if Draco becomes someone different than who Harry had wanted back in the spring before their nineteenth birthdays.

It's the same childish fear from the lake but with the added layer of days of fights over unimportant things. The fights about whether they would ever visit Draco's parents on holidays, whether Harry really was going to stay with the Aurors despite how much Draco knew and still knows it weighs on him. Fights about how Draco refuses to stop sending his mother letters despite the fact that most remain unanswered. Harry hadn't understood the delicate intricacies of pure blood familial relationships, had been angry that Draco had seemed to be banging against a brick wall with no response. 

It was that their friends had so seamlessly melded together. It's that Pansy and Hermione get together for afternoon tea on Saturdays. It's that Blaise knows more about Hermione Granger's work schedule than he does Draco's. It's that even Ron Wealsey, who Draco had thought would take the longest to come around, had expanded his friend group to include Blaise and Pansy so quickly.

It's that it has always been so hard to be the person Harry Potter deserves.

"I don't think I could bear to lose him like that, Pansy," Draco says.

She turns her brown eyes on Draco, calculating and honest. 

"You're going to lose him anyway," she says.

And here finally in the open is Draco's most closely guarded secret. That one day, he will lose Harry simply because he is not enough. That, to avoid that pain, he has chosen the coward's way out and called it a favour to Harry.

### 

2.

Their first time had been at the beginning of summer, when the humidity still hung onto everything in the Greenhouse, when Draco had taken to unbuttoning the collar of his shirts. Harry had already kissed him by the lake, had kissed him in the abandoned classrooms on the second floor, on the third, had pressed him down into Harry's bed at the dormitory they had shared with the other students who had come back for their eighth year. 

The day had been hot. Harry remembers well the way the sweat had dripped down their backs during their Potions' lesson, how the fumes from the cauldron had made everything sticky. Harry had been sitting behind and to the right of Draco. He'd been unable to look away from the way Draco's hair had gotten more and more out of place, how his cheeks had been red from the heat. Draco had taken off as much of his uniform as was acceptable, had loosened the collar of his shirt. 

He'd looked like he did after Harry had gotten his hands in his hair and had kissed him until their mouths were numb. It had been all Harry could think of during class, to the point he'd been unable to finish his work. If it hadn't been for Hermione taking pity on him, he'd have had nothing to turn in.

Instead of waiting to properly thank Hermione though, Harry had gone after Draco. He'd caught him easily, one hand on Draco's wrist right out in the open where anyone could see them. But Harry hadn't cared. He'd known what he'd been doing that night at the lake. He'd been ready for whatever would come with dating Draco Malfoy.

He doesn't know what expression had been on his face, only that Draco hadn't protested when Harry had pulled him down the corridor away from the noise. He'd followed Harry wordlessly into an empty classroom, had let Harry push him against the door. He'd let Harry touch him, hands trembling with anticipation, with teenage desire and the knowledge of forbidden things. Draco had kissed him back, had touched him back, had buried his hands in Harry's hair as Harry's mouth had followed the hollow of Draco's throat. 

They'd been young, were young still but in a different way. It had been after the war. It had been after Harry had, finally for the first time in his life, gotten what he wanted. No strings attached. No Dark Wizard waiting for him at the end. Just Draco's warm mouth, his broken off gasps when Harry had put his hand down Draco's trousers. He'd felt so bold, so very brave, full of the unending possibilities that were laid out before him.

Draco had touched him too. They'd fumbled through messy handjobs, through Draco's punched out groans and Harry's unashamed moans. He'd wanted the whole world to know that Draco Malfoy was his. That despite the world being the way it was, there could be good things in it, too. Harry had loved him so much. With all the certainty of a man brought back from death. 

He's never wanted anything in life that didn't come with Draco. It's why he'd asked so soon. 

In the country air, with the rolling green field and the shining sun, with Draco in loose clothing and messy blond hair, it had felt right. They'd been on vacation before Draco had to start his Potions apprenticeship and Harry had to start Auror training. 

The summer sun had made everything feel heavy and lazy. Harry had watched Draco in the sun and had wanted nothing more than to have that moment forever. He'd wanted to be certain that Draco would be there tomorrow and the day after, that whatever might happen, they would always have each other. 

It had been the easiest thing in the world to stand from the porch steps of what would become their country home. Harry had just walked straight up to Draco who had been watching as the owl carrying his letter to his mother flew off into the sky. He'd been beautiful in the sunlight, bright and shining and when he'd finally turned to look at Harry, his expression had been fond and peaceful. 

"Marry me," Harry had said.

He'd had no ring. No plan. Nothing past the knowledge that he had to have Draco in his life for as long as time permitted. Foolish childish things that held no merit in the long run. Things that Draco had not felt or else they would not be signing divorce papers in two days.

And still, Draco had said yes, had lit up with happiness, had pushed Harry back into the house and said yes again and again. 

It had mattered that Draco had said yes. It matters still that Draco had said yes.

### 

1.

The day before they're meant to sign their divorce papers Harry can't sleep. He talks to Ron for hours, wakes him in the middle of the night with a quick visit from the Floo. Ron, ever patient, the best friend Harry could ever ask for, doesn't complain as Harry goes through the list of reasons why he doesn't want to sign the divorce papers. Why just a few days ago, he'd refused even the idea of talking to Draco and why it matters now that he changed his mind. 

"I want to try again," Harry tells Ron. 

"So do it, mate," Ron says. "If you have doubts don't sign the papers. Talk to him. Find that sneaky, ungrateful—"

Ron breaks off at the look on Harry's face.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "I mean, find Draco and talk to him. Even if you have to hunt him down all the way to Malfoy Manor where he's been staying."

Harry knows Draco is at Malfoy Manor. It had made the most sense he would go there. The Manor was his childhood home. It's where Draco had started to rebuild his life, where he'd told his parents that he was marrying Harry, and where they'd thrown him out. The Manor was and will always be tied to Draco. It represents his family, all the dark twisted intricacies of it, the cold depths that hide memories of unwanted things. 

To think of Draco there again hurts more than Harry imagined it would. The Draco who lives in the Manor doesn't laugh at Ron, doesn't kiss Harry in the mornings, doesn't bury his hands in Harry's hair when they fuck. The Draco who lived in Malfoy Manor had always been afraid, had always been hiding. That Draco would have never kissed Harry by the lake. 

"I have to talk to him," Harry says. 

But the clock above Ron's fireplace says that it's almost six in the morning. Their appointment is for eight, and two hours are nowhere near enough time for Harry to explain to Draco why they owe it to the two boys who'd kissed by the lake to give this another go. 

"You have to go," Ron says, his eyes following Harry's to the clock. 

"Yes," Harry says, thinking of stolen nights at Hogwarts, of the warm country air, of Draco's breathless laughter. "I have to go."

### 

0.

Draco doesn't show up.

Harry paces along the plush grey carpet in the lawyer's office that reminds Harry of humid springs. He waits. His lawyers wait. Draco's lawyers wait and the longer they stand there, the tighter the knot at the centre of Harry's chest becomes. He aches, deep in his bones, with something that could almost be hope, a faint smouldering thing that comes to life when the lawyers decide to postpone the signing.

"We'll be in touch, Mr Potter," they say as they file out of the waiting room.

Harry doesn't wait for his lawyers. He flies out of the building, leaves behind the posh carpets and the doorman. He knows, somehow, exactly where Draco will be. 

-

Their house in London is red brick and neat, ordered bushes along the front. It has a small porch and a gate that only lets in friends and family. Along the back, there's a magically expanded garden where Harry had taken to planting whatever fruit or vegetable he happened to have on hand. Draco grew lilies there, careful to keep them safe and healthy so that when October rolled around Harry could take them to Godric's Hollow. 

Harry knows Draco will be there because that's their home.

-

Draco Malfoy has always been beautiful, haughty expressions and all, but Harry's mind has not done him justice. He looks exceptional sitting on the porch steps, his green shirt open at the collar as the summer sun beams down on him. His white blond hair is still just a little messy the way it is when Harry has run his fingers through it. Just enough to tip Draco's looks away from his pureblood upbringing and into the Draco he is now. The Draco who Harry had seen back at Hogwarts, the one who had done his best to make sure that everything he put out into the world was positive and good. 

"I love you," Harry says before he can stop himself. 

He means to say that they're making a mistake, that they can find a way to make things right, that they should talk. But it matters more that Draco knows that Harry loves him, that he will always love him. Marrying Draco had been a promise to grow with him, to change with him, to deal with the problems that have come and will come. 

Draco looks up from his spot on the porch, his grey eyes wary as they look Harry up and down. Harry looks back, let's his eyes wander down Draco's body to take him all in. There's nothing immediately different about Draco, but he seems changed all the same. Something about the way he holds himself is different. 

"I didn't sign the divorce papers," Draco says.

Harry inhales sharply, not daring to hope. He thinks of Draco in emerald green dress robes, out of breath as he ran up to Harry minutes before they were supposed to walk down the aisle. He thinks of Draco's brilliant smile, his confident flirtation as he'd pinned the white lily on Harry's suit. 

"I don't want to sign the papers," Harry says. 

He thinks of their last summer at Hogwarts, of Draco's laughter muffled in between their mouths, of the green lake and the moonlight. He thinks of arguments over important things, of how Harry has never actually told Draco about the way he sometimes sees himself doing something besides Auror work, of how Draco had seemed to know anyway. 

Draco pats the space next to him on the steps and Harry takes a seat. He can't help the trembling that starts at his hands as his body recognizes the heat from Draco besides him. 

"I need to be someone," Draco says.

"You are someone," Harry says, frowning.

Draco smiles, something slow and painful. "Pansy said the same thing," he says. "But I need you to understand what I'm saying. It's important that you understand."

Harry nods. He would promise Draco everything if it meant they could throw the divorce papers in the bin where they belong. 

"It can't just be you," Draco says.

Harry feels his heart sink, that slow ache in his chest expanding until it threatens to consume him. He doesn't understand. 

"What do you mean?" He asks. 

"My life can't just be you," Draco says. "It can't be just you and whatever rubbish the Prophet invents on any given day. I need to have things outside of you. I need to be able to have more than two people who matter at my wedding."

"Okay," Harry says, frowning. "That's not...Draco, you know I'd never...I'm not going to hold you back."

Draco nods. "I know," he says. "I've always known. I just...it's just so hard remembering that sometimes."

Harry thinks of mornings where he could tell the Prophet articles were getting to Draco, of how he'd always known he wasn't doing enough, wasn't paying enough attention. 

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "For not listening when you tried to tell me you were tired of the papers. I didn't think what that might be like for you. I know your parents...I know that it's hard on you after everything that happened."

He can tell Draco understands. Harry can feel the pain in his chest again, a deep sorrow for time wasted, for the things they could have said to each other before. 

"I'm sorry too," Draco says. "For assuming you would know. For not talking to you and expecting you to understand."

Harry nods and together they sit on the porch steps, knowing their home is inside, knowing that Draco could easily go back to the Manor.

"So," Draco says, finally. "Where do we go from here?"

Harry closes his eyes against the memories, the ache in Draco's voice. He can feel everything in himself answering to the warmth of Draco's body on the steps next to Harry. Even with his eyes closed, Harry knows what Draco's face looks like, his worry, the doubt, because these are all things Harry feels too. He tells himself to answer, to say something and break the terrible silence between them. 

Where do they go from here?

Where can they go after everything that's happened between them?

Harry opens his eyes and thinks of spring nights and summer mornings, of the warmth of Draco's body in the winter, how they'd married in the fall when the leaves were just turning gold, orange, and red. He thinks of Draco wanting to try again, of all the things they still have to talk about, of the many hard conversations to come. 

Looking into Draco's eyes, Harry finds that he wants that. Problems, solutions, compromises. He wants whatever life Draco is willing to build with him. He wants lazy mornings and hard kisses in between breakfast and lunch. He wants Draco, every bit of him, however much he changes, even if he doesn't. And something about the last part catches Harry's attention and brings forth a half-forgotten memory. 

He thinks of Draco saying yes to living with Harry after Hogwarts, of how he'd turned away when Harry had promised him forever. 

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Draco had said.

Harry looks at Draco now, at the way anyone else might see confidence in the way Draco holds himself. How Harry has been able to look past that since the war ended, how he knows the difference between a wall put up to protect Draco and genuine confidence. Harry has seen Draco in his element, how he throws himself into his work, how much Draco loves what he does. He's good at it. Draco knows he's good at it and doesn't shy from that knowledge. That is Draco confident. This Draco is not.

"I love you," Harry says, understanding finally. "That means now and always. It means that I know you're going to change as a person. That I will too. That even when we do, I will love you. That even if you don't change, I will still love you."

"Promises, promises," Draco says. 

But Harry sees the faint traces of hope on Draco's face, in the way Draco keeps throwing glances at the door behind them. Harry feels a new ache at knowing that Draco is waiting for an invitation into his own home. 

"Come in," Harry says. "We should talk. And you should stay. If you want. That is to say...I know you hate Malfoy Manor and you shouldn't…"

Harry trails off but he knows Draco understands. They stand together, elbows bumping, hands reaching out to steady each other. Harry's fingers buzz at the feel of Draco's warm skin underneath them. He can almost imagine what it would be like to get his hands in Draco's hair again, to touch him, to kiss him.

"Hey," Harry says.

Draco stops with a hand on the doorknob. His eyes are wary as he looks at Harry. 

"Can I kiss you?" Harry asks.

Draco's smile is the summer sun and humid spring nights. He moves forward first, slow enough that Harry can back away if he wants. Their lips meet and things don't magically fix themselves. 

There are conversations to be had, lawyers to call, and uncomfortable truths about the things they have done to each other. But it matters that Draco is here, like it had mattered that Draco had said yes on their wedding day. Like it matters that Draco's hands know their place on Harry's face, on his sides. Like it matters that Draco fits, warm and solid, against Harry. 

"I love you," Draco says.

And sometimes, that inspires enough courage to try again.

**Author's Note:**

> 🎵 This work is part of H/D Wireless, a song inspired, anon, Drarry fest with its home on tumblr! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, shower our content creators with all the love you have to give by leaving kudos ❤️ and comments 💌 on their work!
> 
> [Check out the fest tumblr to find even more works and daily updates!](http://hd-wireless.tumblr.com/)


End file.
